


the semiology of katsudon

by themayflynans



Series: here we have [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Food, Like they get all hot and bothered making katsudon idek, M/M, Marriage, Romance, Saint Petersburg, Slice of Life, katsudon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 20:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13372179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themayflynans/pseuds/themayflynans
Summary: Yuuri heard the familiar pop and sizzle of breaded porkkatsufrying on the stove; the greasy and slightly stale smell of frying oil filling the small kitchen was bound to stick to his hair and clothes until his next shower.He could not see the prized cutlet from where he was standing at the sink washing rice. Yes, he could have easily turned around to face the kitchen island and watch it brown—and he would have, on another day, without a second thought.But if he did today, he would have found himself facing the broad, toned back of his new husband blocking his view of the stove, muscles shifting under his plain white tee as he dredged and breaded and then flipped the cutlets, and whatever happened after that would not get them any closer to finishing thiskatsudon. Which simply would not do.





	the semiology of katsudon

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This was written for Days 6 & 7 of [domesticvictuuriweek](http://domesticvictuuriweek.tumblr.com), for a combination of the Day 6 prompt "Closeness" and today's free choice.
> 
> This fic is a direct sequel to part 4 of this series, "[together in the quiet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13344330)." In fact, over the course of this week the whole series has evolved into one story, told almost in reverse chronological order. So I hope it's read and enjoyed in its entirety now that it's complete! 
> 
> Of course, many thanks to [Kitsunebi_UK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsunebi_UK/pseuds/Kitsunebi_UK) for the marvelous beta. I've said it before and I'll say it again - I could not have done as much as I did this week without you!

Yuuri heard the familiar pop and sizzle of breaded pork _katsu_ frying on the stove; the greasy and slightly stale smell of frying oil filling the small kitchen was bound to stick to his hair and clothes until his next shower.

He could not see the prized cutlet from where he was standing at the sink washing rice. Yes, he could have easily turned around to face the kitchen island and watch it brown—and he would have, on another day, without a second thought.

But if he did _today_ , he would have found himself facing the broad, toned back of his new husband blocking his view of the stove, muscles shifting under his plain white tee as he dredged and breaded and then flipped the cutlets, and whatever happened after that would not get them any closer to finishing this _katsudon_. Which simply would not do.

After all, this would be his first _katsudon_ in Saint Petersburg, and the first in his marriage to Victor Nikiforov, born of the same event: winning a gold medal with Victor by his side at the Four Continents Championship.

The latter had taken place three days ago, the former earlier this afternoon. Victor had turned to him in the taxi on the way back from the registry, eyes shining, and of all the things Yuuri had expected him to say, what he’d actually said was: “We’ve got to make you your victory _katsudon_.”

So, against every assumption he’d had about how today would unfold when he woke up this morning—half-dead with jet lag, and rather resentful of Victor’s seeming immunity to it—he was now currently in the process of preparing the most important _katsudon_ of his life.

As such, he put his heart and soul into washing the rice, knowing every restless twitch of his fingers as he suppressed the urge to _just turn around_ would be worth it in the end.

However.

Every second he denied himself this simple impulse made it not _less_ difficult to do so, but far, far more. His heart began pounding faster; his breathing became slightly more labored; he felt a familiar tightening in the front of his pants. He was—god help him, he was getting turned on by this.

It was Victor who broke the silence.

“ _Yuuri_.” The low, gravelly timbre of his voice told him that Victor was also playing this little game, and was also _very_ keyed up. “Are you finished washing the rice?”

He looked down at the bowl of rice in the sink. “Yes.”

“Would you mind—could you just pass it over? So I can get it started in the rice cooker.”

“O-of course.”

He kept his eyes glued to the floor as he turned around from the sink and passed the rice to Victor’s waiting hand. Just the sight of the gold band on his husband’s finger as he took the bowl threatened to drive Yuuri mad.

Incredible, magical, hysterical, the eros of the pork cutlet bowl. Yuuri was about ready to jump out of his skin and into Victor’s. _Why is it always the katsudon_ , he thought deliriously as he turned back to the sink.

He must have said that last bit out loud, because all of a sudden, Victor barked out a laugh. It was a good, hearty, ugly laugh, nothing at all like the way he laughed in front of their friends and colleagues and the press. “ _Yuuri_! Seriously? It’s not the _katsudon_. It’s you!”

“I didn’t...didn’t mean it like that,” Yuuri responded, feeling a blush that Victor could not see rising in his face. “It’s like it always comes _back_ to _katsudon_. When I win gold, I get _katsudon_. Yurio calls me _katsudon_. I called _myself_ a bowl of _katsudon_. We get married— _katsudon_. I should have realized it would feature in some way when we got married, considering the gold medal thing...and all.”

Yuuri knew he was making zero sense. It was because of the jet lag, he reasoned, or the getting married. Or perhaps it was his hard-on, which would render even the most cool-headed, well-rested, un-just-married-est man hard-pressed to be able to concentrate.

What a day it had been.

He heard the click of the rice cooker coming on right before he felt Victor’s arms wind around his waist, cradling him from behind. He could feel Victor’s length pressing against his lower back as he leant down and nuzzled the base of Yuuri’s neck, planting featherlight kisses that he made sure Yuuri could not see him giving.

“And I said it was you,” he lilted into Yuuri’s ear. “And you said yourself that you are a _super_ tasty pork cutlet bowl. I am inclined to agree, _zolotse_ —that means ‘my gold’ in Russian. And doesn’t that fit you perfectly?”

Yuuri closed his eyes and tilted his head back to rest on Victor’s shoulder, breathing hard out of his nose. “It fits you more, Vitya.”

“Mmmm,” Victor hummed against his cheek, so close that the vibrating hum of it tingled down his spine. “But I’m the Russian here, and I say it fits _you_ more.”

He then pulled back, taking his solidness and his warmth and the deliciousness of his arousal away from Yuuri’s back.

Yuuri gripped the counter in front of him, his nails scratching against the cool steel surface of the sink. He was so, so ready to turn back around and end this ridiculous tease for the night, and was right about to do so, before Victor continued. “I have to start preparing the dashi. You do still want your victory _katsudon_ , right?”

Yuuri bit his lip, keeping his eyes shut. This whole thing was absolute madness—they’d just gotten married, for god’s sake, and yet here they were preparing _katsudon_ , the kitchen reeking of frying oil, and it would smell like onions pretty soon, too.

But then it dawned on Yuuri what Victor meant, what he had his heart set on doing.

This was a tradition, had always been a tradition for Yuuri when he won gold. Victor, he realized, wanted to continue this tradition for him as they created new ones, building a life together in Saint Petersburg. He had learned to prepare _katsudon_ straight from Okaa-san while they were still in Hasetsu; Yuuri had thought at the time that Victor would naturally want to be able to make it when their time together was up and he moved back here for his figure skating comeback, since he loved it so much.

But now Yuuri knew better. Victor had intended to prepare it for the both of them, as a gift for Yuuri every time he won, like it had always been for him when he lived at home with his family. Victor wanted Yuuri to feel that being in Saint Petersburg—that being with _him_ —was his home.

Victor was right—more right, perhaps, than even he had known: It wasn’t the _katsudon_. It was _never_ the _katsudon_. It was _them_.

Yuuri opened his eyes and turned around just in time to see a quick blur of movement as Victor rounded back to face the island. He bit back a laugh—regardless of the reasoning behind it, this little stand-off was still so _silly_ —as he situated himself between Victor and the stove so that they were face-to-face.

Victor was flushed with the heat from the stove, and almost certainly from his arousal; he gasped as Yuuri moved in front of him. His eyes widened underneath his thin silver brows, heart-shaped lips parting slightly as Yuuri leaned up to press a gentle kiss against them.

“Yes,” Yuuri responded when he pulled away. “I do still very much want my victory _katsudon_ , prepared by my husband, Victor. My Victor-y wedding _katsudon_ ,” he giggled. He turned and made his way towards the living room, where Makkachin was dutifully curled up on the couch, well away from the goings-on in the kitchen. “I’m going to go walk Makka. I’ll set the table when I get back.”

**Author's Note:**

> As with the previous installment in this series, I used [this post](https://actuallyaflea.tumblr.com/post/153751956014/victors-apartment-pt-1) as a reference for the Saint Petersburg apartment, and [this photo in particular](https://78.media.tumblr.com/36aef379908b2edb108eccee2504783f/tumblr_ohbsywhhlI1vkx3dyo3_1280.jpg) for the kitchen.
> 
> I really hope y'all enjoyed reading my fics for Domestic Victuuri Week as much as I loved writing them - it was a challenge for me as a writer to produce six stories in seven days, especially as I'd never participated in one of these events before, but it really was a pleasure, too. 
> 
> Please leave a comment - see you next level!
> 
> Come yell with/at me on [Tumblr](http://themayflynans.tumblr.com).


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